Cleaning out my art utility room and moving things upstairs to my new studio, I took a picture of what is essentially the last remnant of the former disheveled sorrow of this metamorph-house we’ve been transforming for 17 years. During that time we’ve had to tolerate some sad, ill-functioning spaces. This was one.

I thought of those who are drawn to play musical instruments, who love music so much they want to create it. But in learning to do so, sour notes abound. Playing poorly and hearing others do so is frustrating, and especially assaultive to musical sensitives, but it is sine qua non to playing well, and playing together.

Creators who persist develop a high pain-threshold and keep practicing, for they perceive a future in which their creations satisfy them. It’s what we saw in this house, and how we forgave ourselves when, for example, our color sense failed a room and it had to be repainted.

What hope this holds for all of us who play the tricky magnificent instrument of human existence in all her octaves—physical, emotional, psychic, intellectual, spiritual! As we learn to create our lives, we all hit sour notes. But the orchestra is improving.

The new SweetSink upstairs, with space to clean calligraphy nibs.

This phrase came to me last week. It’s the first piece I have done with pen, brush and ink (instead of markers) in a long time, but since my nibs were clean…

IRENE O'GARDEN

Irene O'Garden was just awarded a 2012 Pushcart Prize for her essay "Glad To Be Human." Her poetry has found its way to the Off-Broadway stage ("Women On Fire" published by Samuel French), into hardcover ("Fat Girl" published by Harper) as well as into children’s books, literary journals and anthologies. She has received many grants, awards and residencies for her writing.